


Ruling the World is too much Work

by spareparts



Series: Unfortunate Happenings [1]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spareparts/pseuds/spareparts
Summary: If Santino wasn't quite so antagonistic, and if Winston was even a tinier bit more proactive, Santino may have survived.





	Ruling the World is too much Work

Santino was angry. Furious. Apoplectic. But more than any of those, desperate. He felt that the Continental should show some of the distress he felt as New York became a power vacuum overnight, but of course the waystation for assassins and other unsavory persons was unchanged. The cold marble interior had never seemed so unwelcoming, and Santino waved away the greeting of the concierge. Wick’s fucking dog was sitting at the end of the desk, wagging its tail.

He left the lobby and rushed to the balcony overlooking the lounge of the New York Continental. Filled with patrons, he didn’t see the man who could possibly solve all of his problems -- specifically one John Wick-shaped problem. Santino spotted the Manager sitting on a couch in front of the ornate fireplace as a guest walked by, doing the fucking crossword. “Winston” he called. No one looked up from their food or conversation, used to the occasional frantic customer. Truly scared and alone for perhaps the first time in his life, Santino was not used to being that person. 

“Mister D’Antonio!” The manager looked up, obviously surprised to see him for a moment, folding his newspaper and placing it on the table in front of him.

Walking down the stairs, Santino uncharitably wondered if the old man had expected him to be dead already. From all reports on the streets, Wick had killed a half dozen contractors and disabling Cassian before disappearing completely and reappearing like the Reaper itself to massacre Santino’s security team at the gallery.

“It appears you’ve had a colorful night.” Santino gave Winston a dry look and would swear that the man smiled slightly. The manager _had_ always favored John.

Marching straight up to the man sitting on the couch, Santino tried to ensure his safety the last way he could think how. “I demand you revoke his membership to this hotel.”

Winston frowned, looking at Santonio over his spectacles. “You know that Jonathan has done nothing to warrant that by our laws. His Marker was fulfilled and he is free to pursue whatever activities he wishes in his own time.”

Santino scowled. “As a member of the High Table I demand-”

“You demand _nothing_ of me Mister D’Antonio.” Winston snapped. Then he paused, looking pensive. “But perhaps if you think for a moment, perhaps you can contrive a situation where you will be able to leave this hotel safely again. Just how well do you know Jonathan? Motivations, _ambitions_?” Satisfied with his vague hint, Winston leaned back on the couch, plucking his newspaper from the table. He snapped it open again, seemingly intent on returning to his crossword puzzle.

Taking a deep breath, Santino closed his eyes and grit his teeth, steeling himself to make his request. He knew Wick would be close behind him. The man was as inescapable as death. “Then I would like to make a reservation for the night.”

Winston smiled behind his paper and waved vaguely at the lounge. “Please enjoy the hospitality of the Continental. You must be peckish after all the excitement tonight.” 

Santino became aware of something vibrating in his breast pocket. A faint glow shone through the fabric, and Winston glanced at where his phone was doing its best to create enough friction to burn through the fabric. “If you need to make a call, please step outside for a moment.”

Santino rolled his eyes and opened the message that was left after the missed call. Ares. Santino couldn’t help the small smile at the three-word text before replying, mind racing.

**Ares**  
_still alive. you?_

**Me**  
_Contact Accounts Payable._

\---------------

Of course Wick couldn’t even wait for the entré to be over before limping in. He took the same position Santino had at the balcony, scanning the lounge, gun drawn. Santino saw him first, but the feeling of eyes on him must have drawn his attention. Wick’s face pulled into a brief snarl. Santino swallowed the bite of steak on his fork, thoughts drawn to the American practice of final meals on death row before he straightened his jacket. Wick limped down the stairs, gun at his side. Under the dim lights of the lounge, his face moved in and out of the shadows, bruised and bloodied, but firmly set. Winston seemed to pick up on the change in atmosphere. He turned from his new seat at the bar to give his favored assassin a concerned look.

“Jonathan...” Winston’s hand was hesitantly outstretched as if he were between trying to force him to holster his gun through will alone and a reasonable amount of self-preservation. The self preservation won out as Wick didn’t even seem to notice the normally charismatic manager in that moment, implacable fury focused entirely on the idiot who’d thought he could pull the Baba Yaga from retirement without _consequences_. Santino tried to school his features into a neutral expression, but he felt he was failing. He couldn’t look away from the approaching reaper.

For the second time that evening, Santino didn’t listen to his ego, instead paying attention to the miniscule part of him that hinted that Wick wouldn’t let something so insignificant as rules stop him from finishing what he’d begun at the art gallery. He bit back his razor tongue and put the knife and fork down slowly, raising his hands as though conceding defeat. Pausing at the table, Wick watched Santino’s movements. Unsure of what would set the man off, Santino waited for him to speak first.

It took a minute before the assassin realized that Santino wouldn’t break the silence.

“ _Why_.” The gun had not moved, but its threat was implicit. There was no force on earth that could stop him if he decided to kill Santino right now.

Santino sighed lightly. “Admittedly, it was an ill conceived idea to believe you would ever sell me out. I do admit your being a ‘free agent’ as it were was... _hm_... disconcerting. But I hope you would reconsider your current position after hearing what I have to say.”

There was no indication of interest other than the fact that Wick had not killed him yet. Santino took the chance that Wick would not just shoot if he began talking again. “Two things. One: I have cancelled the contract. Although I do believe you have already gone through most takers in the city.” Santino took a breath. “Two: you, Mister Wick, are now the second in line for my seat at the High Table.” If Santino had not seen it himself, he would never have believed that John Wick’s jaw could drop. Even so, it wasn’t so much of a jaw _drop_ as much as a surprised blink and slight lessening of tension in his jaw. It was still the most expression Santino had seen that wasn’t a snarl or grimace. Judging the shock would be enough to cover him, Santino picked up his fork and took another bite of his dinner as he noticed Winston pour himself a drink and down it in one go from the corner of his eye. “So do you want out of the life, John? This is your chance. If you kill me now, you’ll be in charge of representing the entirety of the Camorra at the High Table. I presume you wouldn’t want that?” Santino left the implication of _other_ people wanting that very badly unspoken.

While John appeared to be processing in his eerily blank way, Winston gestured for a fresh drink and raised an eyebrow at John. His expression had not changed--but the _clack_ of the gun hitting the table sounded like victory, and Santino smiled.

\-----------------

Later, after John has retired to his room--and Santino would deny it until his dying day but John getting the Presidential Suite would always make him a little bitter--only Winston and Santino remained in the lounge. Other patrons had slowly trickled out after the bar closed, and the staff had responded to some unspoken signal from Winston to disperse.

“What _have_ you done, Mister D’Antonio.”

Santino grinned and took a sip of his wine, self-congratulatory. “Nothing more secure than a second who knows power and does not want it.”

Winston looked begrudgingly impressed. “This wasn’t what I originally had in mind when I asked you how well you knew Jonathan. He likely would have left well enough alone if you’d just kept your mouth shut, cancelled the contract, and been proactive about discouraging future employment.”

“That is exactly what I did, Winston. Others will not risk pulling John out of retirement _again_ , and no one is stupid enough to try to go through him to get to me. The _Baba Yaga_. He didn’t kill Cassian or Ares, and if I hadn’t seen his other work first hand I’d say he was growing soft. He wouldn’t last without becoming part of another system and the Tarasovs wouldn’t touch him now.”

Winston shook his head disbelievingly. “I believe you’re wrong there, but you have a point about Cassian and Ares. Now, I must have a conversation with Charon about the dog…” He paused and huffed a small laugh before continuing. “I expect I will actually see you in the morning.” Winston rose to leave, and the staff walked back in, a flurry of activity around where Santino sat.

The thrill of confrontation was still fresh in Santino’s mind and he let the flow of waitstaff soothe his frazzled nerves until he could stand without danger of his knees shaking. His suite was waiting.

\-----------------------

“As always, I am grateful that you respect the house rules.” Winston walked unannounced into John’s room with a small smile on his face.

John sighed, not bothering to look over from where he was petting Dog at the window. “You know as well as I do that you influenced this somehow Winston.”

Unconcerned, Winston shrugged. He walked through the suite to sit across from John. “I merely suggested to Mr. D’Antonio that he may with to think things through a bit more clearly. His first instinct was to demand I revoke your membership here. If I had not-intervened-he likely would have done something far more rash. And you as well.” Winston paused, then chuckled. “De-escalation has never been your strong suit.”

It was John's turn to shrug, not responding further.

Winston sighed, familiar with John's more antisocial tendencies. “Mr. D’Antonio has also offered to rebuild your house and pay for the car being repaired at Aurelio’s. May I suggest a smaller house this time?”

“No one to share it with exactly.” John ruffled Dog’s ears, continuing to ignore Winston.

“Jonathan…” Winston trailed off when it was clear John was done speaking. “Very well. Goodnight, Jonathan.” He stood, wiping imaginary dust from his lap. Giving John one last glance, he left the room. He saw John move and the light go out as the door swung shut.

**Author's Note:**

> so there's this book i read a long time ago where the "villain" makes the protag the second-in-command of his whole syndicate. and then gets kidnapped. i haven't gotten around to writing that part yet, but fingers crossed.


End file.
